


Last Resort

by AppetiteOfAPeoplePleaser



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood, Cutting, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Knives, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppetiteOfAPeoplePleaser/pseuds/AppetiteOfAPeoplePleaser
Summary: You will escape Strade or die trying.





	Last Resort

You tried to accept it.

You cut yourself when he gave you the knife and held still when he stitched your wounds. You ate the horrible things he gave you. You even brought him chips while he was dead drunk.

You had told him, a while ago, that you wanted to live. For a while, that had been true. And he had known. He had squeezed the hope from you like water from a sponge.

Finally, after yesterday, you broke.

Life is no longer important. You must escape or die in the attempt.

You cannot live like this anymore.

The door swings open with a loud creak and bumps against the wall. You sit up quickly, your heart pounding. As you feared, it's Strade.

"Good morning, _leibling_." Strade looks down at you, a smug grin on his face, but you think you see confusion in his amber eyes. Does he know by the guilty look on your face, the trembling of your limbs, that you've finally given up? You clench your fingers into the sheets to still your arms. His grin lessens. "You didn't forget you have a tongue, right buddy?"

Oops. You stutter in an attempt to get the words out. "N-No, good morning... Strade."  
He smiles wide again. "That's right, don't forget your manners." He claps his hands sharply. "Get up! If you do as I say, you can have breakfast... after our time together, of course~" His tone sends chills down your body. You scramble to your feet and smooth down the oversized shirt of Strade's that you wear to bed now.

He turns on his heel and walks down the hall, humming cheerfully to himself. You don't know whether he does this because he's legitimately happy, or because he wants to psyche you out. It used to creep you out, but it doesn't bother you much anymore. You rub your eyes (faking it, you haven't slept all night) and follow him.

Ren is curled up on the expensive plush couch in the living room, wrapped in a blood-stained towel. You note with displeasure that some of the stains are fresh. Strade is in a bloodthirsty mood.

But Strade takes you past the living room and to the door under the stairs. You try to hide your fear, but you can't stop the terror from showing on your face. Strade won't kill you unless provoked enough, so you know suffering is coming.

You could try getting him to kill you, but you honestly think he would see it coming and laugh in your face. If he finds out you no longer fear death, it's over for you. Strade will draw out every moment of suffering until the day your body gives out.

Down the stairs go the insatiable sadist and the unfortunate victim. He ties you to the pole, leaving you standing this time. "So," he begins after a pause, his favorite knife twisting in his eager fingers. "Tell me, _leibling_ , did you enjoy yesterday~?"  
You remember to answer. "N-No..."  
He laughs like it's the funniest thing you've ever said. "Bahaha! That's interesting, buddy!" Your limbs stiffen as he brings the knife to your upper arm. "Let me hear those noises, okay?" He slices across.

It's a shallow cut, but it stings, and you don't try to suppress the whimper that rises from your throat. "That's it?" He clicks his tongue, grins, and lowers the knife below the first cut. "Guess we'll have to try harder, huh buddy?" He slices deep this time, and you scream weakly, your body slumping against the pole.

"Didn't sleep well?" His other hand comes up and caresses your face, rubbing under your tired eye with the pad of his thumb. You tense up, anticipating his thumb going into your eye, but it doesn't. "You have such dark circles under your eyes, buddy. Something been keeping you up?" 

You frown slightly and remember to answer a tad too late. "Uh, no, just insomnia... I've always had... problems with it..." He strokes your face some more, and you grit your teeth to keep from leaning into him, as starved for affection as you are.

"That's a real shame," he says, not sounding the least bit sorry about it. "Now, clean my knife for me, buddy."

He puts the knife to your lips, and you automatically begin to lick off the coppery blood and strings of flesh clinging to the blade. Once it is all gone, he pulls it away, wipes it on your shirt, and drops it with a clatter on his workbench. "You've been so good, I think you deserve breakfast! Don't you think?" You murmur something that vaguely agrees with him, but he isn't listening. Humming again, Strade takes his needle and thread and sews up your arm, then douses it in stinging alcohol. You hiss in pain, earning a grin from Strade.

He unties you and leads you upstairs. "Sit down at the table, buddy. I'll get you some food." 

You sit at the table, biding your time.


End file.
